


Equilibrium

by maxnotamenace



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Suicide Attempt, general wammys house mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxnotamenace/pseuds/maxnotamenace
Summary: They were like B and A in the sense that A's suicide drove B over the edge and Matt being alive was 90% of Mello's impulse control.





	Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this at midnight yesterday instead of putting together my art file for my integration class while listening to africa by toto and drinking cold hot chocolate. have it. i had to get this scene out of my head.

Matt supposed dying would feel like being on autopilot, your body finally giving out and following the rules that applied to dead thing, like there were rules that applied to living things. And that night, matt sure felt like he was on autopilot, at least mentally, with all the pills from the orange bottle -if only he knew what they were, there would be no risk that he would miss his shot- lined up on the counter in front of him. He was sitting on the toilet, one knee drawn up to his chest, staring at the pills on the countertop. It was pathetic yes, to see him sitting there, in his boxer, red hair tangled up in a mess sitting atop his head, wondering when and if he should kill himself.

 

The world felt strange around him. Foggy, almost like he had smoked one too many cigarette in the room and the room was lingering with the smoke and the suffocating smell. matt knew it wasn’t the world that wasn’t as real as it usually was; he was just dissociating. This world was broken and he only went with what he had, it was hard being a genius, it was hard always living up to expectations that were never met and it was hard pretending to be unbothered and carefree when you were expected to be a genius. Matt had taken the responsibility to be the unbothered one because there had to be a sane genius in the top three and it wasn’t going to be near or mello holding that spot. It was hard existing as himself, _ it was hard knowing who was “himself” _ .

 

Matt didn’t know how long he stayed there, with his knee to his chest, forehead lowered on said knee, torn between staying and putting an end to the circus that his life had always been for the longest he could remember. He was pretty sure he was about to fall asleep, right then and there, of emotional exhaustion when the door flew open and his jerked up, Mello standing there, his face going from unbothered to worried to angry in less than time it took to say “Mello”. This was what differentiated them from Near: Matt and Mello were emotional thinker, emotional geniuses. Near… they didn’t know if near had emotions to say. Matt didn’t even have the time to finish unfolding his long legs from his spot on the toilet that Mello had already opened his mouth to say something that was, surprisingly, not an insult.

 

“Get in the car. And put on pants.”

 

And with that, he was gone. Not a thing about the pills, or the strange position he found his best friend in. Matt sighed, running a hand through his ginger hair.

 

He put the pills back in the small orange bottle and after a moment of looking at it like it was alien in his hand, he took it with him. 

 

-

 

Now fully dress in his shiny red car, Matt was wondering what Mello had in plan for them that night. They had already been driving up north for a bit less than two hours, and  _ it was _ the middle of the night. But maybe Mello had some urgent business to deal with the mafia and needed his right hand man with him to make sure he got out of it alive. But they were only going further away from civilization as time went on. The lights were rarer on this part of the road and it was strange that they were farther up  _ ye olde england  _ at three in the morning. When Mello ordered him to take a particular turn, it hit him as to their destination; he knew exactly where they were going. And where this was was Wammy’s House. 

 

Why was Mello making him drive all the way up to the orphanage where they grew up in the middle of the night was a mystery, but now that he knew where he was going, the world wasn’t that foggy anymore.

 

-

 

His suspicions were right: Mello made him park the car not that far from the orphanage and took the lead, walking up to the house where they both grew up. It had started snowing on the way up north, the soft white falling adding to the white already covering the ground, and M ello pulled his black coat tighter around him. Matt almost laughed looking at his friend shivering, as he remembered that the blond once told him that russians didn’t get cold, whilst his ten years old ass had proceeded to get frostbites going out without a coat. That time seemed so far away now. He and Mello had been together for so long, and had waited for so long to finally get out of that goddamned orphanage and here they were, at three in the morning, coming back to that same orphanage they had wanted to leave so badly. He reached in his pocket to find a cigarette, only to be met with emptiness and his lighter. He thought for a second he must have left his pack at the apartment, when he saw Mello holding it out between two fingers, his back still to him.

 

“Looking for this? You can have it in a minute. There’s something I want to show you.”

 

Mello made a gesture with the pack to follow him to the back of the house, in the shadows where Matt remember smoking his first cigarette at fifteen years old, just before he and Mello had left. But Mello continued farther away from the house, at the border of the nearing forest and turned around, waiting for his friend to get to him. When Matt, his hands in his pockets, trying to get that unbothered facade he always had together, arrived at Mello’s side, he was met with what looked like two tombstones. Mello handed him his pack of marlboros. 

 

“Mello, if you made me drive all the way up to Wammy’s in the cold of the night to look at two rocks-” the redhead grumbled as he lit a cigarette.

 

But Mello didn’t listen to him. Mello was already crouched, removing the snow from the front of the headstones so you could read the names that were engraved on them.

 

“A 

Adam, 1999” one said.

 

The other one simply said “B, 2004” on its front. 

 

Matt started to understand why they were here. Mello knew things, things he learned while L was still alive and he was finally ready to talk about them. Mello got up again, his hands in the pockets of his coat.

 

“They’re the first two kids who grew up here. A and B. L told me about them. He told me B was brilliant, but deviant. He went berserk at some point, left Wammy’s, wasn’t seen for two years and then plotted a murder case that L wouldn’t be able to solve, said case including setting himself on fire. He was… an odd one.”

 

“Odd one sure was…” Matt whispered, thinking about the implications and dedication that B must have had. But then again, they were all pretty odd, those who grew up at Wammy’s house.

 

“A,” mello continued, “A was B’s closest friend, and he never took a pseudonym. He only went by A, his real name apparently being Adam. From what L told me, A killed himself over the pressure. Swallowed a bunch of pills. B left shortly after that, so they always suspected it was A’s suicide that finally drove B over the edge.”

 

Matt knew that Wammy’s House history wasn’t a clean one, but two people actually dying because of it? he would have never suspected something like that. 

 

“What happened to B?”

 

“He died in prison. heart attack. the rest is history, you know.”

 

So B hadn’t escaped kira’s thirst for blood, Matt thought. They had had a bloody history, much like the one life probably had in store for them. Matt now understood why they were here, at least, some part made sense. A had killed himself, much like matt had wanted to do earlier. But most of this setting? He still didn’t understand. Mello was hard to understand, emotional stuff was hard to understand; you couldn’t just go in with cold logic and datas. You had to  _ feel _ . It wasn’t supposed to be hard for him to do that, and still.

 

“When he told me about the LABB -the name they gave B’s murder case-, L said I reminded him of B. Impulsive, emotional, extremely brilliant, but always on the edge.”

 

“Well, aren’t you flattering yourself there-”

 

“Shut up, you know there’s one thing i wouldn’t lie about its that. Anyway, he told me that I could easily go the same way B had: I could snap one day, say fuck it and cross the line. I thought a lot about that, you know. He told me, in this case, you were like A.”

 

Matt wasn’t so much surprised that L had compared him to a guy that had committed suicide than he was that L actually talked about him to his best friend.

 

“You’re like him the sense that A was what held B on the right side of things. We’re like them in the sense that we have a sort of balance. And the fact that B knew A’s name, and that’s why they were able to put it on his grave, and vice-versa for A about B.”

 

Mello paused, his breath visible in the cold hair. He sunked lower in his coat, his icy blue eyes narrowed on the two graves in front of them.

 

“I don’t want to die and be remembered by a letter, Matt. i want at least one person to remember me.”

 

“I have to admit,” Matt said, exhaling the smoke from his half consumed cigarette, “that i’m not really following your thinking anymore, Mels.” 

 

To his surprise, he felt a hand sliding in his own. It wasn’t that strange, when he thought about it, and held on close, the contact between their hands being the only way they acknowledged there was someone beside them, their eyes still lost on what remained of two friends that were so much of geniuses it killed them.

 

“My name is Mihael. Mihael Kheel.”

 

“So you really  _ are _ russian,” Matt smiled, holding his cigarette in the hand that wasn’t holding Mello’s hand.

 

“Shut up,” Mello answered, with a smile that could be heard in his tone. “What’s yours?”

 

“Why should i tell you?”

 

“When you die someone will know what to put on your headstone.”

 

“You’re implying that I’m going to die before you?”

 

“We’ll have to find that out. Anyway, I wanted to tell you all this just because… you’re important, Matt. You’re my only friend. And I don’t want us to end up like these two.” Mello continued, turning to face the redhead, clearly seeing that Matt didn’t want to give him his real name. 

 

“Mail Jeevas.”

 

“What?” The blonde blurted.

 

“My name. It’s Mail Jeevas.”

 

“That’s not a name.”

 

“Your face is not a name. I don’t know where it’s from or why the person that brought me into this world blessed me with that god forsaken name, but here I am. Now you have it.”

 

“Thanks, Mail.”

 

Matt didn’t want to admit it, but his lips curled in a smile around his cigarette. So instead of admitting it, he only held on more to Mello’s hand. 

  
  



End file.
